


On the Ice

by GobbleFunkwithWords



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Ice Skating, Implied/Referenced Character Development, In which the boys are soft for each other, Introspection, M/M, Multi, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28351764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GobbleFunkwithWords/pseuds/GobbleFunkwithWords
Summary: Tim takes Jon and Elias on an ice skating date.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Elias Bouchard/Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	On the Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RuneFells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuneFells/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy your secret santa gift!

“Are you sure you don’t want to join?” Tim calls out, skating little circles around a rather topheavy Jon.

Elias smiles and shakes his head. “Although I appreciate the invitation, I’m perfectly content to observe.”

Tim pouts. It’s a good pout, one perfected over years and years of getting his way through emotional blackmail. Fortunately, Jonah has two centuries of management under his belt, which translates to a surprising resistance to said puppy eyes. His polite smile does not waver, and after a good minute of silent argument, Tim sighs in disappointment and turns back to Jon, who in the meantime has managed to skate forward a few wobbly meters.

“You okay there, buddy? Need a hand?”

Jon does not look amused, giving Tim a huffy glare.

“I’m  **fine** .” He insists, right before tripping over his own feet. Thankfully Tim manages to catch him amongst peels of laughter. Elias himself hides an amused smile behind a gloved hand. Jon’s glare worsens.

“I hate you both.” He crosses his arms, an impressive feat of balance considering he’s spent the past fifteen minutes struggling just to stay upright. “At least Tim is helping. You’re just watching.”

Elias smiles, fingers tapping along the fence separating the ice rink from the rest of the park.

“The Eye likes to watch.” The words make Tim roll his eyes, still not a fan of the Entities after all this time. Next to him, Jon raises a curious eyebrow.

“And what do  **you** want, Jonah?”

The question brings a warm flush to his cheeks, tucking his chin into his coat collar. He still wasn’t used to this - being seen so separately from the Eye. As a man first, and an avatar second. The hardest part was confronting how much he liked it (and maybe, if he was feeling particularly honest with himself, needed it).

“I already told you, I enjoy watching you. Regardless of the Eye.”

Tim skates over, making the movements seem effortless. He’d been the one to suggest this outing; apparently, he’d gone to figure skating classes when he was younger and wanted to see if any of those lessons had stuck. Of course, his delighted reaction when Jon had admitted to not knowing how to ice skate (“It’s a useless skill! Why should I spend time on it?”) made it clear to Jonah that most of his excitement came from the prospect of teaching the other two a new skill.

(Perhaps, Jonah muses, being the only true human out of the three of them had its own emotional toll, and Tim wanted a chance at being the leader for once. As much as he tries to resist it, the feeling that relationships revolve around  **power** is deeply ingrained into him from decades of desperately tearing himself from his own humanity. Well. Baby steps.)

Jonah is snapped out of his introspection by Tim’s voice right in his ear. He’s leaning over the railing with another one of his patented ‘kicked puppy’ looks.

“You sure? Not even for five minutes? Just for us?” Jonah opens his mouth for another polite refusal and is interrupted by the loud  _ bonk _ of a man colliding with the railing next to them.

Said man pulls himself back to his unsteady feet with a familiar (cute) scowl.

“Jonah. If you are so intent on seeing my dignity suffer, at least do me the favour of joining us.” Elias closes his mouth with a frown of his own, his blush surely from the cold of the winter air and not how adorable Jon looks wearing mittens and a woolly hat.

“...” He bites the inside of his cheek in frustration at himself before sighing deeply. “Very well. I suspect neither of you will let the issue rest, so I shall humour you.”

Jon smirks while Tim lets out a whoop and punches the air.

“Fuck yeah! C’mon, let’s get you some skates. What shoe size are you again?”

As Jonah walks off to the skating booth with Tim in tow, Jon allows himself a moment to lean back against the railings and enjoy the momentary reprieve from attempting to keep himself standing. He smiles, watching his breath spiral into the air, the same colours as the clouds above. It’s nice to have a day spent outside like this. Admittedly, tensions had been rising at home; the stress of three men determined to make the holidays perfect for each other all trying to organize food and presents and decorations in the same house. Tim’s idea of taking some time to do a bit of nothing was a welcome one.

It’s the familiar sound of Tim’s laugh that has him lifting his head, and the sight that greets him doesn’t disappoint; Jonah Magnus, 200-year-old avatar of the Eye, founder and director of the Magnus Institute, sliding around on the ice like a newborn foal. His face is a mask of panicked embarrassment, arms windmilling in an effort to not end up face-first on the ice.

Tim is barely helping, head tilted back in honest, deep laughter, as clear and light as a mountain stream. He has one steadying hand planted firmly on Jonah’s shoulder, but other than that he seems far too absorbed in watching Jonah’s dignity crumbling alongside his sense of balance to be of any real help. Jon himself doesn’t bother to hold back a chuckle, shuffling over by using the railing to keep himself upright.

“What’s this Jonah? Could this be why you were so intent on spectatorship? Didn’t want to look like a fool?” Jonah lifts his head from where he’s keeping an eye on his feet (as though they may disobey him should he look away) to give Jon a glare surprisingly reminiscent of Jon’s own disgruntled frown earlier.

“It’s been a long time.” He defends, reaching an arm out to rest his weight on the railing. “The last time I went onto the ice, the only equipment we had was blades tied to our boots with string.” He frowns, a distinct look that Jon knows to associate with many of Jonah’s memories; tired nostalgia, tinged with guilt.

The expression sobers Tim as well, placing a gentle gloved hand on Jonah’s cheek and lifting his head to look into his eyes with a sweet smile.

“Why don’t I show you how to do it? Here, bend your knees.” He takes each of Jonah’s hands in his, giving him a moment to reorient himself before beginning to slowly skate backwards, pulling Jonah along in a leisurely circuit of the rink. Jonah’s eyes remain steadily on Tim, hands certainly not shaking, allowing himself to be guided along.

“I must look ridiculous…” He muses, mostly to himself. Tim smiles at him, all sunshine kindness.

“Well, are you having fun?”

He can feel Jon’s eyes prickling at the back of his neck, gaze undeniably fond. It mingles with the warmth of Tim’s hands felt through their gloves, and Jonah doesn’t hold back his smile.

“Yes, actually. I think I am.”


End file.
